When I was little, my parents and I would drive every summer from Stockholm to Italy, to visit relatives. Here’s a picture from Gavirate, Italy. I would help my grand aunt and uncle bring in hay and feed the rabbits. Rabbits that eventually ended up on our dinner table. The ride to and from the field, I rode on this wooden wheel barrow, and I can still hear the sounds of the squeaky wood and the uneven stone pavement of this small town. It was also here that I learned how to shoot a riffle, barely out of diapers. My grand uncle once received a reward for growing Italy’s largest pumpkin. It measured some 3 meters.